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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27358393">what have i become (my sweetest friend?)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperdream/pseuds/paperdream'>paperdream</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>daisy time travels and jon suffers au [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>5+1 Things, Canon Asexual Character, Crying, Dubcon Cuddling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Forced Cohabitation, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jon tries to apologize to tim, Jon whump, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist &amp; Alice "Daisy" Tonner Are Best Friends, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Has ADHD, Misunderstandings, Movie Nights, Possessive Behavior, Protective Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Protective Martin Blackwood, Sequel, Time Travel, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Whump, accidentally wrote lowkey neuroatypical georgie as well, and why it makes ur archivist sad :(, archive jon in the bad future, daisira could b platonic or romantic depending on interpretation, jon-typical paranoia everyone hates him and is out to get him, not the tag i thought i was gonna use but the one i needed now, or trying to get there at least, pre jonmartin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 02:47:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,034</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27358393</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperdream/pseuds/paperdream</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>5 times someone thought something seemed off with Jon and Daisy and one time they did something about it</p><p>(sequel to "you're only as sick as your secrets")</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Basira Hussain &amp; Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Basira Hussain &amp; Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Basira Hussain &amp; Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist &amp; Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Georgie Barker &amp; Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist &amp; Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist &amp; Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood &amp; Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, The Admiral &amp; Georgie Barker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>daisy time travels and jon suffers au [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1992145</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>90</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>466</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Basira</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title from "Hurt" by Johnny Cash</p><p>I wasn't gonna start posting till I had it all written but screw it 60% plenty of lead, i can have little a validation, for a treat.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Basira wasn’t used to feeling so tense, talking with Daisy. It had been almost a week since she’d been hired at the Magnus Institute, and the first time she’d managed to get Daisy to leave her own work long enough to take a lunch break with her, alone. The cafe was a little far from the Institute, but it had been one of their favorites, before Basira quit, and it wasn’t as though she was going to be fired for getting back late.</p><p>She waited until Daisy had started eating to broach the subject. “You still owe me an explanation about Jon.” Jon was the reason she’d waited so long to have this conversation; suddenly he seemed to be everywhere, even when she’d gone over to Daisy’s for a movie night. She’d thought Jon likable enough, been sad she couldn’t maybe start a friendship with him that wasn’t based on his being a murder suspect, but <em>Daisy </em><span>had never shared that opinion. </span><span>She’d been certain he was a murderer at best, a monster at worst, and now he was </span><span>like her best friend and most treasured possession rolled into one</span><span>.</span><span> No matter how she turned it, Basira couldn’t make sense of the sudden change in attitude.</span></p><p>Daisy glanced up from her pasta, eyebrows crinkling as though she honestly had no idea what Basira was on about. “I told you I can’t tell you everything. I thought you were going to trust me on this.”</p><p>Basira huffed a breath out through her nose. “That was before I realized you have him living in your spare room. Can you blame me for worrying he’s… I don’t know, mind controlled you into deciding he wasn’t a murderer and you needed to be his best friend? Maybe he knows he’s ‘monster bait’ and decided you’d make a good bodyguard.”</p><p>“I’m pretty sure Jon can’t mind control people,” was all Daisy said in response. Basira took a deep breath and reminded herself that she probably wasn’t being deliberately frustrating.</p><p>“Can you give me another reason you changed your mind about him all of a sudden?”</p><p>Daisy avoided her eyes, chewing thoughtfully, for a long moment. “I… know things about Jon now- about what kind of person he is- that I didn’t before.”</p><p>“And how did you find them out? I really thought you’d killed him, when I saw the <em>fresh grave</em><span>. You still haven’t told me who’s buried there, either, by the way.”</span></p><p>
  <span> Daisy’s eyebrows went up, and she looked honestly surprised. “I didn’t realize you went out there.” Her mouth pulled down when Basira didn’t answer. “Grave’s Michael Crew. Shows up in some statements. Dunno that Melanie’s had any with him, but Jon or Martin can probably explain if you ask. Tim too, if he’s around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “He was a monster?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Daisy’s eyes darted. “He killed people. Innocent people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Basira noted the prevarication, but chose to ignore it for now. “But Jon was with you when it happened. And you… what, had a heart to heart while digging a grave?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Daisy’s shoulders slumped, and she muttered something Basira couldn’t hear. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I said I was going to kill Jon, too. And I made him dig half the grave.” Daisy didn’t meet her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Alright. Why didn’t you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Daisy shook her head. “I can’t… It’s part of what I can’t explain. Not yet. Not here.” She sighed and rolled her head, cracking her neck. “Maybe I just want to make up for hurting him. I made him </span>
  <em>dig a grave</em>
  <span> with his hand completely burned, Basira. It was going to be </span>
  <em>his</em>
  <span> grave, and </span>
  <span>he</span>
  <span> knew it. He didn’t deserve that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “So it’s all because you think you owe him a favor.” Daisy didn’t work like that, and they both knew it. That wouldn’t be enough for her to move him into her flat, or to cling to him like he might stop existing at any moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Daisy shook her head. “I promise I’ll explain eventually. There’s just some things I need to do first. Then I’ll tell you both everything. Until then, you’re just going to have to settle for knowing it’s not because of anything he did to me. I’m not being controlled, or manipulated, or… blackmailed, or anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She wanted to protest, demand more answers </span>
  <em>now</em>
  <span>, but something about Daisy’s demeanor was unsettlingly grim. “I mean,” she started, trying to lighten the mood. “You are being blackmailed. By Elias. But I assume you mean besides that.” </span>
  <span>Maybe joking about being literally held hostage wasn’t her best conversational volley.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Daisy’s head jerked up, and her lips curled after just a second too long. “Yeah, other than that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Basira returned to her food and set her free hand on the table, within Daisy’s grasp. If Daisy held it a bit too tight, she didn’t say anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she ducked into Jon’s office between statements the expression that went over his face was a baffling mix of surprise, guilt, and dread. She knew he felt guilty about her being trapped at the Institute, just as he felt guilty about all the others being stuck, but she couldn’t think of anything she’d done to make him fear her. Still, the expression passed soon enough, and he was </span>
  <span>responding to her questions with </span>
  <span>a rambling explanation of how Mike Crew had become an avatar, and the statements he’d generated afterward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And you and Daisy?” she prompted when his well of words seemed close to running dry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Jon looked at her wide-eyed. “I’m not… sure what you mean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I know Daisy killed him. I’d just like to hear your side of things. And how you ended up at the Institute together after, as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Right.” He rolled his shoulders nervously. “I was directed to Mike by Jude Perry. She…” He waved his still-bandaged hand through the air as though it were an explanation in itself. “Anyway, I… took his statement, which he didn’t appreciate. And when we were wrapping up Daisy came in and knocked him out. I don’t know how she knew where to come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And then you drove out and buried him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Jon nodded jerkily. “I mean. She shot him first. He wasn’t buried alive, or anything like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And after…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Jon gulped. “Daisy took me to get my hand looked at, and said I could stay the night at her place. Then we came to the Institute the next morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “And that’s all. You didn’t… say anything to her, or anything like that?” He squirmed under her gaze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I didn’t ask her any questions!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Other than that. She thought you were a murderer, you didn’t… do anything to convince her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Jon shrugged. “She said she knew Elias had done it, and that I was innocent.” He peered up at her as though trying to divine whether he’d passed some test. “Is that… all? Or did you…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Sure, that’s all. Just surprised the two of you are so close, now. Unexpected.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “R-right. Close. Well, if you need anything-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I know where to find you.” As she shut the door behind her, she thought she caught a glimpse of Jon collapsing forward on his desk, shoulders trembling. </span>
  <span>But whatever else was going on, she doubted she’d get any more answers from either of them, for now.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Georgie</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jon forgets Georgie can see right through him</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this one's a bit shorter than average, because I couldn't realistically keep Georgie from realizing something was Up for very long lol</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>From his expression, Georgie suspected Jon hadn’t expected the first thing she did when she saw him huddled on her doorstep to be grabbing a fistful of his shirt and hauling him inside. “What. The. Hell. Jon.”</p><p>He shrunk in on himself. “Hello, Georgie. I just. Wanted to pick up my things and give you your key back.”</p><p>“That’s it? You think you’re going to get out of explaining to me why I haven’t heard from you in <em>two weeks</em> and your last message sounded like a suicide note?” She let go of his shirt now that the door was shut and she’ d cut off his escape, but he didn’t straighten. Instead, he seemed to cave in around the crumpled fabric, collapsing inward like a dying star.</p><p>“I’m sorry. I didn’t- The text wasn’t meant to worry you.”</p><p>“‘I’m alive. Sorry for the worry. You may not see me for a bit. Give The Admiral my love,’ was supposed to make me worry <em>less</em>?” Her hands jerked and waved through the air, not illustrating her words so much as venting excess anger.</p><p>“Yes?” Jon cringed, but at least that look was familiar, the same look he’d always had as he realized he’d messed up a social interaction. “It started out with ‘I’m alive’? I said sorry?”</p><p>“It <em>sounds</em> like you’re trying to put your affairs in order. And then the next word I get is from <em>Melanie</em>, saying you- you-” her hands stopped in their frenetic motion to point rigidly, “Couch. Now.”</p><p>Jon slunk into his assigned place, eyeing The Admiral with longing but not reaching out. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”</p><p>Georgie plopped down next to him. “I’d like to see the hand.”</p><p>Jon held out the bandaged appendage tentatively. “Do you want to see under the dressing or…?”</p><p>She smacked him on the shoulder. “<em>No</em> I don’t want to <em>see under the dressing</em>, what would we put back over it? You’re going to get an infection!”</p><p>Jon slumped forward, good hand clenched to his stomach as he rocked back and forth slightly. “I didn’t mean to be gone for as long as I was.”</p><p>Georgie sighed. “I’d just like to know what <em>happened</em>. I think you owe me that much.”</p><p>Jon jerked his head up, ready to argue, but his posture went loose and lax. He pulled his knees up to his chest and started to explain.</p><p>-</p><p>When he was done, and Georgie had told her own tale in turn, she gave him her best suspicious look. “There’s still something else. Something you’re not telling me.”</p><p>Jon looked up from where he was cautiously petting The Admiral. “No? I told you basically everything I know, promise.”</p><p>She flapped a hand dismissively. “Not about that, then. But there’s something else bothering you.” He shook his head, too fast. She tried a different tack. “Where are you staying now then? I can’t imagine your landlord will be glad to see you back, after all this time. Spare bed’s still good for a couple more nights if you need it.”</p><p>He darted a look over to the door, then back at her. “No, I’m… staying… with… a… friend?”</p><p>“And where was this friend when you decided to become an outlaw?”</p><p>“<em>Georgie</em>.”</p><p>“<em>Jon</em>.”</p><p>“I should… be getting back soon. She’ll wonder where I am.”</p><p>“Does <em>she</em> have a name?” She waggled her eyebrows salaciously on the pronoun, stretching her grin into comic shape.</p><p>“...Daisy.”</p><p>Georgie gave him a look, sobering. “Wasn’t that the cop’s name?”</p><p>“What?” Jon straightened a bit, eyes flickering between her and various random points.</p><p>“The cop, the one who was looking for you or whatever. I’m sure Melanie said her name was Daisy. Uncommon name, is all.” Jon let the silence drag on entirely far too long. “It’s not the same Daisy.” She said it as a statement, though she felt a grim surety the reverse was true.</p><p>“She’s the one who took me to A&amp;E. For the hand, I mean!”</p><p>“<em>Jon</em> . Please tell me you aren’t staying with the woman who was trying to <em>arrest </em> you for <em>murder</em>.”</p><p>“I really should- look at the time- didn’t mean to get so late- out of your hair!” Jon squeaked, and darted into the spare room.</p><p>“Jon!” She followed. He couldn’t make quick progress packing up his meager things one-handed, but she didn’t help, instead putting her hands on her hips. “Are you <em>safe </em>with her?”</p><p>He pretended not to hear the question, cramming things away as fast as he could. Georgie bit her lip.</p><p>“You know I’d help you if you’re in a bad situation, right? I don’t want you to get hurt.”</p><p>Jon glanced up at her for a split second, bundling his bag into his arms. “I really don’t think you should hang around me any more, Georgie. It isn’t safe. <em>I’m</em> not safe.”</p><p>“Jon, you don’t have to throw yourself on every grenade you see. It isn’t healthy! Jon!”</p><p>He sped out her door, head ducked, without another word. She stared after him, then looked to The Admiral. “What the hell.” He meowed back.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Comment and/or kudos if you enjoyed! Or you can find me on tumblr @inklingofadream and send me whumpy tma prompts so I have something to focus on other than the election 🥺</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Daisy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Movie night :D surely nothing will go wrong</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If she focused on staying in the moment, Daisy could almost forget the future. Jon in her passenger seat when she drove him to work was <em>real</em>, lunch with Basira was <em>real</em>, even her semi-regular confrontations with Elias (always steered to somewhere Jon wouldn’t see or hear, just in case) were <em>real</em>. In light of all that, it wasn’t so hard to imagine the future as a nightmare, and try to let it fade around the edges like one. Was it so improbable that she might have stumbled upon her knowledge of the Rituals and Elias’ identity some other way?</p><p>It never lasted, of course. Real as they were, Jon and Basira could never align exactly with the versions she held in her memory. Time hadn’t meant much, but she could tell well enough that she’d been alone for a long time, before she managed to come back; even longer if she counted the time with Martin and Melanie and Georgie still there waiting to be picked off one by one after they’d lost Jon and Basira. That time without them, with nothing but the brutality of a ruined world to contrast her memories to, had smoothed away the rough edges of her relationships. Moments of peace revisited again and again became rosy vignettes, divorced from the context of conflict and terror they’d originally happened in.</p><p>
  <span> Of course the real Jon, still with so many secrets undiscovered and so many traumas unfelt, couldn’t be reduced to the feeling of his hand in hers, unexpected comfort miles beneath the surface. </span>
  <span>The real Basira couldn’t understand why Daisy did what she did, so it was only natural for her to go sharp and snappish. As often as the unanticipated reactions hurt (reminded her she was a monster uncovered insecurities put space between them she couldn’t stand) she found herself treasuring them, too. </span>
  <span>Her harsher</span>
  <span> memories </span>
  <span>were</span>
  <span> another thing the apocalypse had taken from her, and she wanted it all back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, she didn’t think she’d ever been as transcendentally happy as she was in the scarce moments when she wasn’t on a hunt and Basira wasn’t busy and they could all pile onto her couch on a Friday night and watch the kind of dumb movie she’d almost forgotten existed. It still wasn’t everything it could be, with Basira and Jon still unsure around each other, but she was sure it would work out. They fit together, made more sense as friends as either of them did paired with her, and without kidnappings and coffins and comas to build resentment and sour that potential, she was confident they would mesh eventually. And even if they didn’t, it was enough to have her pack safe behind her door, within reach. When Basira rolled her eyes at an especially egregious line of dialogue or Jon piped up with an inaccuracy he found glaring </span>
  <span>that</span>
  <span> neither of the </span>
  <span>women</span>
  <span> had noticed, her heart soared.</span>
</p><p>On one of these evenings, abuzz with the discovery that Jon had some incredibly strong opinions on the inferiority of kettlecorn (she’d never known that before they’d never been that kind of friends too scared too stressed too busy) and the feeling of Basira half curled into her lap, Daisy reached over absently and wrapped an arm around Jon, pulling him into her side. She couldn’t stand being held, since the Buried, but Jon hadn’t lost his taste for it, panicky if things got too tight but equally unnerved by empty space and the reminder of the Vast (he’d still been dropped by Crew in this time must still hold that terror of being set adrift in endless sky; she’d been trying to figure out how to give him a weighted blanket without starting any uncomfortable conversations) and he’d liked being held as long as she didn’t crush him. The feeling of his small body pressed into her settled something in Daisy, too; the knowledge that her frailest packmate (even after even as the Archive before it ate away the last of what made him Jon he’d gotten hurt more than her or Basira) was barricaded away from what might do him harm alongside the feeling that if she was wrapped around something nothing could wrap around her and return her to the crushing embrace of earth.</p><p>It took her a bit to realize what the change in stimuli that had set the hair at the back of her neck up was Jon’s heart rate, rabbiting up well past what should be normal for an evening cuddling on the couch. She scanned the apartment, ears pricked for anything unusual, before deciding it must be the action scene currently playing across the screen. He must have found it more intense than she did. She pulled him a bit closer and rested her chin on the top of his head, just in case.</p><p>Jon’s heart didn’t calm down when the scene ended. Eventually, it slowed some, but it never returned to anything close to what she’d expect. When the movie ended, she kept an arm around him as she saw Basira to the door and resecured the locks, unwilling to give up the feeling of warmth at her side (selfish). When they were once again sealed away from anything that might take him and hurt him, she pulled him back to the couch, releasing him to tuck herself against one of its arms, facing inward, gesturing for Jon to take a seat at the opposite end.</p><p>“You alright, Jon?”</p><p>His head jerked up, guiltily making eye contact. “Why shouldn’t I be?”</p><p>She shrugged. “Just seemed on edge, is all.”</p><p>His eyes searched her face, and she remained still under them, relaxing backward and looking back until he decided he’d seen his fill. She didn’t know what had brought it on, but she didn’t need to; he’d gotten like this, sometimes, staring at someone or something as though they held some great secret he had to commit to memory. She’d always wondered if it was a Jon thing or an Archivist thing, but never really known how to ask. Half the time, he didn’t seem to realize he was doing it.</p><p>“Is there something I <em>should</em> be afraid of?” he finally asked, dropping his eyes.</p><p>She sighed a breath through her teeth. “I mean. In general, sure, but nothing I’m aware of tonight specifically.”</p><p>He darted a glance sideways at her. “In <em>general</em>.”</p><p>She raised her eyebrows mockingly. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, Jonathan, but there’s a circus out there trying to end the world, and your boss is a murderer.” It took him just a bit too long to smile awkwardly and laugh. She couldn’t forget this wasn’t her Jon, he wasn’t as comfortable with her or used to her jokes. She couldn’t expect him to be.</p><p>“In all seriousness,” she continued, “if there is something else bothering you, I’d like to know.”</p><p>“Would you really?” The tone was soft enough she thought he might not have intended her to hear, but she answered anyway.</p><p>“Yeah. I would. You're my <em>friend, </em>Jon. I don’t want you to get hurt. I want you <em>safe</em>.”</p><p>He rolled his shoulders. “Well. There’s nothing you need to worry about. I’m… perfectly fine.”</p><p>She let the silence drag on a moment, in case he was going to elaborate and actually tell her what was up, before tossing her head back and stretching dramatically when it became apparent he wasn’t. “Well. Reckon it’s time to turn in, anyway.”</p><p>Jon jolted to his feet, glad to be free of the awkward conversation, and multiple joints in his legs clicked and popped as he did. Daisy snickered. “You’re such an old man.”</p><p>Jon ducked his head, drifting awkwardly at her side into the bathroom as they both brushed their teeth. She waved as he scampered back out.</p><p>“Don’t forget to lock your door,” she teased. He knew she didn’t mean him any harm, had been living with her for months, but he still kept up the habit. She didn’t really object, figuring another layer of protection, even a flimsy one, between Jon and the monsters baying for his blood could only be a good thing. “Night, Jon.”</p><p>“Y-yes. Goodnight, Daisy.” In response to her tease, the lock clicked behind him just a bit more emphatically than usual.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Does he know that, Daisy? <i>Does he really?</i></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Tim</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>LOVING that the comments on the last chapter are almost universally people losing their minds at Daisy telling her to communicate. I love my idiot daughter. And seeing your comments always makes me so happy 🥰</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span> Tim really, really hated it when he had to come back into the office. He’d been doing everything he could to avoid it, </span>
  <span>ducking into the library and bypassing the Archives entirely or</span>
  <span> coming in through the tunnels after hours and before anyone arrived in the morning to grab whatever looked like it might be useful against the circus and ignoring </span>
  <span>anything</span>
  <span> left for him on his desk. Jon’s schedule had been unusually accommodating to this practice, the last few months. Figures that with the end of the world hanging over their heads and Sasha dead would be the time he finally decided to develop a work-life balance. </span>
</p><p>Today, though, he had to show up in person during normal work hours. There was a book he needed, and the library said the only copy had been checked out to Basira. He’d even checked the public library, though their catalog rarely intersected with the kind of esoterica the Magnus Institute regularly referenced, on the off chance he’d be able to avoid putting in an appearance, but no such luck. So he was awkwardly hovering in the assistants’ bullpen, waiting for any of his so-called colleagues to appear. Because of course the one time he actually wanted to talk they were all taking a late lunch.</p><p>
  <span>He slumped against the edge of his desk, unwilling to sit in the chair. He was considering fishing </span>
  <span>through the</span>
  <span> crammed together pile overtaking Basira’s desk and risking her wrath at the disruption of whatever organizational system or black magic made the whole thing coherent to her when Jon’s door creaked open.</span>
</p><p>Tim stiffened, staying very still, as though that would keep him from being spotted. With Jon’s nose stuck in a statement, he figured it was worth a shot.</p><p>“Oh! Tim!” Jon clutched the statement to his chest, rocking up onto his toes and back down to flat feet over and over.</p><p>“Boss.” Tim pulled his phone out, pretending to be focused intently on the screen.</p><p>“Er, Tim.” Jon seemed to determined to press forward even without any response, “I just. I wanted to say- that is. I’m sorry. About Sasha, and for not sharing my suspicions with you. And the stalking. And Martin? Gave me the statement you recorded? And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for your loss.”</p><p>Tim’s hand clenched, white-knuckled, around his phone, and he jammed it back into his pocket. “That’s all you have to say for yourself? ‘I’m sorry’?”</p><p>Jon’s shoulders pulled up to his ears and he wrung his hands, statement dropped forgotten on Martin’s desk. “What else <em>is there</em> to say? I can’t undo it, I can’t bring them back- I’m not good at- at apologies, or… any of it. All I know to say is that I’m genuinely sorry!”</p><p>“Do you have any idea what it was like? For months, spotting <em>you</em> out of the corner of my eye, hiding outside my <em>windows</em>, and thinking Prentiss was somehow chasing me like she did Martin? Finding out it was you, and instead of stopping you <em>kept doing it</em>? And then-” his voice broke. Jon nodded, knowing what he was going to say.</p><p>“I let my paranoia get the better of me. And I know you hate me, and I know I deserve it, but could we- a ceasefire, if nothing else. Truce until we stop the Unknowing. We can get more done working together.” Jon met his eyes in stuttering bursts, his gaze darting away after a few moments and then returning.</p><p>
  <span>Tim sneered. “What, so you don’t have to do any real work yourself? Need an extra set of hands just in case you might end up being </span>
  <em>useful</em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I… Daisy keeps Elias away. And any other monsters. That’s… that’s useful.” Jon’s eyes fixed on his shoes, back to twisting his hands in front of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “</span>
  <em>Daisy’s</em>
  <span> a murderer, and she’s here because of </span>
  <em>Basira</em>
  <span>, yet </span>
  <em>another</em>
  <span> person trapped in this stupid job, you self-centered prick.” Tim clenched his fists at his sides, trying to stay rooted to the spot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Jon’s hands went up, pulling at his hair. “I just want things to be better for you, Tim. All of you. You don’t want my apologies, you’re not happy with seeing me suffer-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “</span>
  <em>Suffer</em>
  <span>?” Tim almost didn’t consciously notice moving, as though at one moment he was standing against the desk and the next he had Jon pinned against the opposite wall, </span>
  <span>just off the ground,</span>
  <span> with nothing in between. “You think you’re </span>
  <em>suffering</em>
  <span>? Sasha </span>
  <em>died</em>
  <span>, Jon!” He shook him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Jon brought his hands up as much as he could, holding them palms out. It could be surrender, or he could be preparing to shove at Tim’s chest; Tim was too angry to parse the difference. </span>
  <span>Jon’s eyes were shiny with unshed tears. </span>
  <span>“She was my friend, too, Tim! </span>
  <span>But even if it makes you feel better to watch me being… being imprisoned and terrorized, it won’t bring her back. I’m sorry!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Tim scoffed. “We’re all trapped working here on pain of death and </span>
  <em>you’re </em>
  <span>the one who’s imprisoned.” He shook Jon, bringing up one hand, unsure what exactly he was going to do with it, </span>
  <span>slap Jon or punch him or gouge an eye out with his fingers</span>
  <span>. </span>
  <span>All sounded cathartic, in the moment.</span>
  <span> “</span>
  <em>Get over yourself!</em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Jon cringed away as much as he could, pressed against the wall. “Tim, please!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> What happened next was something else Tim couldn’t quite order in his head. Daisy hit him </span>
  <span>out of nowhere </span>
  <span>like a freight train, knocking him off of Jon and pinning him to the floor, hands wrapped loose around his neck and eyes alight. “Don’t touch him,” she growled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Tim gasped, </span>
  <span>the breath knocked out of him.</span>
  <span> “What the hell?” He tried to pull his arms free from where they were pinned by her knees</span>
  <span>m</span>
  <span> a</span>
  <span>nd</span>
  <span> the hands around his neck began to tighten </span>
  <span>slightly</span>
  <span>. Distantly, he could hear Jon scrabbling up from where he’d fallen when the supporting force of Tim’s presence had been removed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Daisy,” Jon’s voice was quiet, quavering. It came again, louder. “Daisy!” He tripped into Tim’s field of view, </span>
  <span>half kneeling and half collapsing before </span>
  <span>tentatively putting a hand on Daisy’s shoulder. “Daisy, please don’t hurt him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She jerked, releasing Tim’s throat and flipping her whole attention onto Jon </span>
  <span>but not standing up or getting off of Tim</span>
  <span>. The smaller man flinched under the attention. “He was hurting you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I- I’m fine, Daisy. Please let him up it was just a- just a misunderstanding, that’s all.” He curled into himself as she squinted at him, scanning his expression for some cue Tim couldn’t guess at. Then her attention turned back on Tim himself. Behind her, he saw Jon stiffen, trembling with how tensely he held himself, hand half outstretched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Daisy gripped him </span>
  <span>loosely </span>
  <span>by the hair, </span>
  <span>pinning his gaze to her own</span>
  <span>, staring into his eyes and baring her teeth. “If you ever try to hurt him again, Stoker…” She let the threat hang unfinished, </span>
  <span>clambering up off of Tim.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He laid there for a moment, trying to get his breath and his bearings, before sitting up. </span>
  <span>He rubbed at his throat, didn’t think it would bruise. </span>
  <span>Distantly, he saw Daisy </span>
  <span>turn</span>
  <span> back to Jon, helping him to his feet and checking him over for injuries as he tried to brush her off. Since when were those two… friends? </span>
  <em>Were </em>
  <span>they friends, or…?</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He watched from the floor as Daisy wrapped an arm around Jon’s shoulder. “C’mon, you’re taking an early day today, after that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Jon looked up at her, wide-eyed. “But! It’s not even two!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “</span>
  <em>Jon.</em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Daisy!” his voice squeaked, and his shoulders hunched. His eyes </span>
  <span>still </span>
  <span>looked wet. “Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Daisy looked back over her shoulder at Tim. “Not after that. You don’t have to spend every moment of your life working, Jon. You need to </span>
  <span>look out for</span>
  <span> yourself, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Tim scoffed to himself. “Never does anything </span>
  <em>but </em>
  <span>that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He thought he’d been quiet, but Daisy whipped around, glaring at him and snarling. Jon’s hands darted out and grabbed her shoulder. “Alright, alright! Just- come help me pack up my things?” Tim noted distantly that he looked terrified. Of what? “Please, Daisy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Her body language relaxed, leaking tension, and she followed Jon indulgently into his office, never losing physical contact with him. </span>
  <em>Were</em>
  <span> they…? </span>
  <span>He’d been wrong about Jon and Basira, but Jon had never let Basira half-carry him the way Daisy seemed determined to do, despite Jon’s insistence that </span>
  <span>there was nothing wrong with his legs and he could walk unassisted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Tim maintained his position, watching from the floor, until they had left the Archives. Then he pulled himself up and went back to the trapdoor. Talking to Basira could wait for another day. Or he’d wait for her to return the book he’d needed to the library. He’d had </span>
  <span>more than </span>
  <span>enough of the Archives.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Tim's grievances are mostly valid he just... has a total misread on most of what Jon's trying to say.</p><p>Also this will not be shown but it is important to me that y'all know that after she got Jon back home there was more extremely tense cuddling and they watched a movie together and ordered his favorite takeout. Daisy is trying very hard but she is not using her words even a little. The knowledge that her love language is acts of service will not aid either of them when Jon's still low-key in fear for his life.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Martin</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>at long last, some comfort in this hurt/comfort</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Martin usually prided himself on keeping a very consistent workday schedule, but when he finished the file he was working on earlier than expected and looked at the bulk of the next in his stack, he decided there was no harm in breaking for tea a bit earlier than usual. As he stood, Daisy came out of Jon’s office, darting up the stairs and out of the Archive, and he smiled, waved, and noted that since she’d taken her bag she probably wasn’t returning any time soon, so there was no need to make her a cup.</p><p>He expertly distributed mugs to Basira, Melanie, and his own desk before approaching Jon’s door. After pausing at the threshold to listen for the cadence of a statement and hearing nothing, he walked in without knocking.</p><p>He glanced back over his shoulder to see if he’d missed something, but no. Jon wasn’t bent over a desk in conversation with either of the girls, and the lights to Document Storage were still dark. And he hadn’t heard the door while he was in the kitchenette. He looked back to the desk, but it remained empty. Where on earth was Jon?</p><p>He stepped fully into the room to set the mug down, so he could commence his search without spilling it and adding to their problems. Closer to the desk, he thought he could hear something, very faintly. Hitched breaths, like someone trying not to be heard.</p><p>Hoping his suspicions were right and he wasn’t about to do something very stupid and close himself in with a monster, he quickly stepped back to the door and pulled it shut. Almost immediately the noises increased in volume, little hitching sobs. His stomach dropped.</p><p>“Jon?” A thump, followed by a brief high whine and the sobs becoming muffled again. Martin’s stomach sunk. “Jon?” he asked again as he stepped cautiously around the desk.</p><p>Just as he’d thought, there was Jon, curled up to fit into the tiny space under the desk, shaking, with his hands clamped over his mouth and tears running down his cheeks.</p><p>Martin knelt next to him. “Oh, Jon. What happened?”</p><p>Jon shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut as though that might make Martin disappear. Martin stood quickly to retrieve the mug of tea, then resumed his crouched posture.</p><p>“Here, I brought you tea. Can you move your hands for me? You’re going to scratch your face up, digging your nails in like that.” He wanted to reach forward and gently pull the hands away himself, but he didn’t know how his touch would be received. Luckily, he didn’t need to, as Jon dropped them himself, apparently realizing Martin wouldn’t leave until he did. As he did, it became clear that his good hand, the unburnt one, had actually been <em>in</em><span> his mouth, the fingers covered in little bite marks. Martin let out a slow, soft breath and handed him the tea. Jon hated fussing, and bringing attention to the bites would only run counter to finding out what he </span><em>really</em><span> needed to know.</span></p><p>“There. Now, what’s happened? You seemed alright a bit ago, Daisy was here…?”</p><p>Jon took a sip of tea, cradling the mug to his chest, sniffled, and barked a short, bitter laugh. “Yes, I know you approve of Daisy.”</p><p>
  <span> “Um,” Martin furrowed his brow, “I suppose? I mean, I didn’t like when she was accusing you of murder, but you seem to have gotten past that, and now. Well, I’ve told you before, I think it’s good for you to have someone,” </span>
  <em>even if that someone isn’t me</em>
  <span>, the bitter, jealous part of his brain supplied, and he shook his head to banish the thought, </span>
  <span>this was about Jon, not Martin’s dead-end feelings,</span>
  <span> “and she keeps Elias away from y- </span>
  <span>she keeps Elias away</span>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon’s shoulders curled inward. “Exactly, it’s a good deal for you all. You don’t need to pretend otherwise for me.”</span>
</p><p>“What? Jon, I don’t understand, I just want to know what’s upset you!”</p><p>
  <span> Jon’s face twisted, and Martin’s heart ached in sympathy. “You don’t have to </span>
  <em>pretend</em>
  <span>, Martin. I know you all know the kind- the kind of </span>
  <em>monster</em>
  <span> I’m turning into. I know you’re glad to have someone like Daisy keeping an eye on it.” He drew a jagged breath, but Martin cut in before he could continue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’re </span>
  <em>not </em>
  <span>a monster. Even if… even if you’re </span>
  <em>changing</em>
  <span>, and we don’t know exactly how or what it means, you could </span>
  <em>never</em>
  <span> be a monster Jon.”</span>
</p><p>Jon shook his head. “I know you don’t believe that. If you did, you’d have no reason to…”</p><p>“To what?”</p><p>
  <span> “To let Daisy control my life!” Jon jerked to face him, eyes wild, nearly sloshing his tea. “If I weren’t turning into something else, there would be no reason to let her-” he was broken off by a sob, but Martin was too shocked to take advantage of the pause, “to let her </span>
  <em>keep me</em>
  <span>. You’d stop her.” He laughed brokenly, curling in on himself again. “Or maybe not. Maybe it would be enough to be the kind of monster I was before any of this happened. Who wants to step in to rescue the</span>
  <span>ir</span>
  <span> prick boss? I </span>
  <em>know </em>
  <span>I brought this on myself, there’s no need to rub it in.”</span>
</p><p>Martin gripped his knees so Jon wouldn’t see how his hands were shaking. “Jon. Can you tell me exactly what Daisy’s doing to you?”</p><p>“You know well enough.”</p><p>“Pretend I don’t.” Jon flinched. Tentatively, Martin put a hand on his shoulder. “Please?”</p><p>
  <span>Jon took a shaky breath, quieter than the earlier ones. “She makes me eat, and go home on time, and makes sure I go to bed- I think she’d set me a bedtime if she thought she could get away with it. Drives me to and from work, so the only people I </span>
  <span>ever really</span>
  <span> see anymore are the ones who work here. When she has to leave for a hunt she calls me every day to make sure I’m still where I’m supposed to be. She… she’s always </span>
  <em>touching </em>
  <span>me. And she gets so angry whenever Elias calls me </span>
  <em>his </em>
  <span>Archivist, or even his employee. Tells him I’m hers. </span>
  <span>She did the same when Tim… Tim and I got in a fight and she</span>
  <em> tackled</em>
  <span> him, had her hands around his throat telling him not to touch me.</span>
  <span> She hunted me down and caught me, so now she gets to keep me.” He shuddered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Martin felt detached from his body. He’d thought those were </span>
  <em>good </em>
  <span>things, </span>
  <span>the ones he knew about anyway,</span>
  <span> that it was nice Jon had someone to remind him to eat and sleep and give him friendly touches. </span>
  <span>And when had Tim even been where he and Jon </span>
  <em>could</em>
  <span> argue? </span>
  <span>“What do you mean ‘she caught you’?”</span>
</p><p>“I think I have it all on tape here, somewhere.”</p><p>“I’d rather hear it from you.”</p><p>
  <span> “I… It was after I burned my hand, she didn’t have anything to do with that. I don’t know how she found me, but I was interviewing Mike Crew- you remember, he’s shown up in a handful of statements?” He didn’t wait for an answer, “Anyway, you know. She’d been looking for me. I was on the run, I was a murder suspect. </span>
  <span>And when she found me… I told her I was pretty sure Mike had killed people, so she knocked him out, handcuffed me, and put us both in the boot of her car.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “In the </span>
  <em>boot?</em>
  <span>” Martin’s voice came out unexpectedly shrill, even to him. Jon shrugged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “She drove out to where she always buries… the things she kills. Shot Mike, uncuffed me, gave me a shovel and told me we had to bury him. And I knew, I </span>
  <em>knew</em>
  <span> it was going to be a grave for both of us. But there wasn’t anything else I </span>
  <em>could</em>
  <span> do. She had a gun. </span>
  <span>I was digging, trying not to slip or drop the shovel and make her angrier, and then</span>
  <span> all of a sudden she just. Told me to stop. Finished burying Mike herself and drove me to A&amp;E. Said she was my sister when they wanted her to stay in the waiting room, </span>
  <span>because heaven forbid I’m ever out of her sight</span>
  <span>. And I’ve been living with her ever since.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Martin knew he must be gaping like a fish, but Jon wasn’t looking at him so he supposed it hardly mattered. “</span>
  <em>Jon</em>
  <span>… </span>
  <span>Jon did you think we knew about all that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Jon’s eyebrows drew together. “Of course you did, she brought me back here, she talked to you, specifically. She told you to bring me painkillers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “...Yes.” Martin was scrambling for what to say. He needed to keep Jon safe, and for that Jon needed to trust him, but apparently he thought Martin had been deliberately sitting back and watching him be kept glued to the side of someone who tried to murder him. “That was </span>
  <em>all</em>
  <span> we talked about Jon. She said she thought you’d lose track of time and forget to take them, but I wouldn’t. That’s all. I didn’t know any of the rest of it until you told me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Jon’s eyes darted, gaze fixed on his lap and his twisting fingers. “Then… then they just didn’t tell you. They know you don’t hate me like they do, so they kept it from you. Basira must have told them.” He nodded, although he didn’t look satisfied with his explanation so much as like he was trying to convince himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Why are you so sure the others knew?” It probably wasn’t the right question to ask, but it was out almost before Martin finished thinking it. He wanted to think his coworkers- well, maybe not Tim, with how angry he was at Jon and how infrequently they saw each other, or Basira with how close she and Daisy were, but surely at least Melanie- would tell him if they knew about something like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Because,” Jon hiccuped a renewed sob, face crumpling, “because if they didn’t I could have asked for help.” Martin shifted back on his knees, trying to take some pressure from the crouch off his ankles, and Jon gave an odd flinch, as though he wasn’t sure whether to reach out for Martin or dodge a blow. Going with the former, Martin reached out a tentative hand, palm up. Jon seized it with both of his hands as soon as it came close enough, pulling Martin’s hand into his lap and rubbing Martin’s fingers between his own. Martin thought with hysterical clarity of how excited he would be a few months ago- a few minutes ago, right </span>
  <em>now</em>
  <span> if it were any other circumstance- to be holding Jon’s hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “You’re asking now,” Martin said eventually, “Or at least. If you want help it’s. On offer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Jon shook his head, “You don’t understand, I. I’ve been living with her for </span>
  <em>months</em>
  <span>, I could have asked that first </span>
  <em>day</em>
  <span>. I didn’t have to… to…” He curled inward again, wrapping himself around the bundle of their entwined hands, sobbing quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Martin edged closer, wrapping an arm around Jon’s narrow shoulders, tightening it to a proper hug when Jon seemed to relax back into the touch. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have had to. We should have noticed. We’re going to help now, alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Jon leaned into him, and Martin held him until he finished crying.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Jon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw for a very slight reference to jon thinking there's a possibility daisy might sexually assault him. it's very brief and vague, but if you want to skip it you can go to the page break and miss very little</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jon’s whole body felt shaky and over-sensitive, the lights too bright and sound echoing oddly in his head. He felt tired. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried like that, much less done so in the presence of another person.</p>
<p>It was so stupid. Daisy hadn’t even really done anything, hadn’t grabbed him into a hug unexpectedly or lifted him off his feet, just given his hair a bit of a ruffle before leaving. Such a simple thing, to set him off, and then to find out that help had been within his reach all this time. If he had just <em>asked…</em></p>
<p>If he had asked, he might not have spent the last two and a half months constantly afraid that today would be the day Daisy finally killed him, or beat him, or carried him into her bed for something worse than an insensate panic attack (<em>infatuated</em> , Elias’ voice rung out in his memory <em>he’s </em> mine <em> don’t touch him </em> infatuated <em>)</em>. Once again, he’d had help within his reach and his own paranoia had made him try to handle things alone. And when had that ever worked out well? Idiot.</p>
<p>Martin reentered his office, back from whatever errand he’d stepped out for when Jon’s sobbing had finally abated. Jon didn’t meet his eyes. He’d trapped Martin here, been dreadful to him for months, and then cried a wet spot onto his jumper. If he made eye contact he felt sure he’d melt into a puddle of humiliated miserable slime right there.</p>
<p>“Here,” Martin said, nudging a fresh mug of tea into Jon’s eye-line. “You have a key to Daisy’s flat, right?”</p>
<p>Jon jerked his head up at that, cocking it to the side. “Wh-why?”</p>
<p>Martin folded his hands in front of himself calmly. “I’m going to go over there and pack up some of your things before we do anything else. Then when I’m back we’re all going to sit down and have a serious discussion of what you told me. You can come, or you can stay in your office.” At that the facade of calm practicality melted a bit, and Martin slumped slightly, “If that’s alright?”</p>
<p>Jon nodded in a daze, handing over the key and telling Martin the address, where in the flat to find his things. He stared blankly after Martin, eyes boring into the door of his office. It couldn’t be that easy.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>He hadn’t wanted to hide away in his office, hadn’t wanted to make Martin speak for him, especially since Martin had somehow gotten Tim to come in for whatever conversation he thought they were going to have, but he regretted it almost as soon as he joined their ragged circle. Daisy always half-ran down the stairs to the Archives when she was alone, a distinctive slapping tread. No one had said a word before the sound started echoing down the stairwell into the bullpen.</p>
<p>Jon was frozen, unsure whether to try to play the scene off as casual or flee. He could see Martin standing stiff and tense, and Basira turning with a slight smile on her face. At least he was about as far away from the Archives entrance as he could be.</p>
<p>Daisy’s hair was windswept, face flushed. She looked surprised to see them all assembled there, and shot Tim a glare before addressing the rest of them. “What’s all this?”</p>
<p>“Martin said he had something important to talk about and we were just waiting for him to spit it out,” Melanie said. Her arms were crossed tight over her chest, but she didn’t actually seem any angrier than she was as a general default these days. Jon barely heard her, and he didn’t think Daisy did either as they locked eyes.</p>
<p>“What happened to Jon?” His heart skipped a beat as he frantically wondered whether she could read guilt off his face before he remembered his face was still tear-stained. The others must have been too polite to mention it, or have assumed it was related to what Martin wanted to discuss, but Daisy had no such qualms, stepping toward him as Jon tried, too late, to scrub the evidence away.</p>
<p>He blinked when he pulled his hands away from his face and could see properly again. His view had shifted while he wasn’t paying attention; instead of Daisy, he could just see Martin’s back as his assistant stood between them, hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Why don’t you take a seat, Daisy? You can sit by Basira and Melanie.”</p>
<p>Martin stayed standing, maintaining a silent stand-off, until Daisy had pulled a seat over to the point he indicated. It didn’t escape Jon’s notice that it put her about as far from Jon’s own position as possible, but angled so that he didn’t have to face her dead on.</p>
<p>“Daisy’s been keeping Jon prisoner in her flat.” Jon flinched. He hadn’t expected Martin to just… say it like that. Maybe he wouldn’t have, if Daisy hadn’t arrived. “Jon thinks we all knew that, and endorse it.” Martin’s face was calm as their little circle erupted into confusion. Tim was shooting Jon a measuring look, while Melanie typed furiously on her phone and Basira rounded on Daisy, looking confused.</p>
<p>Melanie slammed her phone face down onto her thigh. “<em>Why</em>? We all know he didn’t kill anyone; what’s the point?” then she turned to Jon. “Is this why you got all weird and stopped talking to Georgie? She’s been making me text her every day so she knows you’re still alive!”</p>
<p>Jon wished he had worn a jumper over his dress shirt today; it would be too warm, but he’d be able to hide his face better. “I- she. I didn’t want Georgie to get wrapped up in…” he waved a hand at the Archives in general. “And she… she threatened her.”</p>
<p>Daisy’s head jerked up. “What? No I didn’t!”</p>
<p>Jon flinched. He hadn’t been paying attention to Daisy’s reaction, but she looked pale, waxy and ashen. “You said the lock on her door couldn’t keep you out. So I couldn’t go anywhere except to stay with you.”</p>
<p>Daisy slumped back in her seat, face slack. Tim was still shooting her, Jon, and Martin appraising looks. Daisy shook her head, staring at her lap. “It wasn’t… I wouldn’t hurt her, Jon. You <em>have </em>to know that, I didn’t want- I just want you to be safe!”</p>
<p>Martin leaned forward in his seat, interrupting her view of Jon again. “How safe was he when you made him dig his own grave, Daisy?” His voice was even, but there was a treble of rage underlying it.</p>
<p>“Daisy!” Basira cried.</p>
<p>Tim looked straight at Jon, a bit pale. “She didn’t.” He shook his head, eyes darting around the circle. Melanie’s eyes were fixed on Jon, too. Jon nodded timidly.</p>
<p>“I- that wasn’t-” her voice shook. Daisy ran both hands through her hair, and her jaw firmed. “Tunnels. Now.”</p>
<p>Tim’s head whipped around. “Are you insane? No, we’re not following you into the murder tunnels!” Melanie and Martin nodded in agreement.</p>
<p>“You’ve been half-living down there, you know your way around better than I do, Stoker,” Daisy snapped, not making eye contact with anyone, even Basira. “I can explain everything, but only in the tunnels. It’s none of Elias’ business.”</p>
<p>Jon felt hazy and dizzy, but he stood up on wobbly legs. It made sense, he thought distantly. Daisy hated Elias, was always worried about him watching. “Okay. Explain. Lead the way.”</p>
<p>Martin jumped up as soon as Jon did, and with the two of them following the rest fell in, trooping around shelves to the trap door. Tim fell into step next to Jon. He kept his gaze focused forward. “If that’s what you were so upset about, the other day… Sorry for calling you self-centered.”</p>
<p>Jon felt as if he’d been struck in the chest, pulling his hands to rest against his heart. “Th-that’s alright. You didn’t know. Everything else I said- I still mean it.” He darted a hopeful glance sideways.</p>
<p>Tim pursed his lips. “Yeah.” He quickened his pace, walking alone. Martin slowed to take his place beside Jon.</p>
<p>“Can I?” Jon didn’t know what Martin was asking, but nodded, and he was pleasantly surprised when his assistant wrapped an arm around his shoulders, steadying his swaying pace a bit.</p>
<p>Daisy led them all in silence through half a dozen turns through the tunnels, until they were well away from easy eavesdropping range. They all just stared at each other for a moment. Holding Jon to his side, Martin couldn’t stand between them, and Daisy’s eyes fixed on Jon, hands twitching toward him. Jon fidgeted.</p>
<p>“Well?” Martin put his free hand on his hip. Daisy sighed and slid down the wall until she was seated on the hard rock of the tunnel floor.</p>
<p>“It’s a long story. You might as well…” she gestured vaguely. Tim and Melanie remained standing, but Jon took the advice gratefully, weak knees almost collapsing beneath him, bringing Martin with him. Basira knelt facing Daisy, close enough to reach out but with a distance she didn’t usually put between herself and her partner.</p>
<p>“It’s a long story,” Daisy repeated, “Please don’t- no questions until I finish.” She looked over at Basira, then to Jon, and her eyes were miserable. “Try not to record it. I don’t want it as a proper Statement.”</p>
<p>Tim tapped his foot theatrically, glaring at her. “We’re not getting any younger.” Jon felt like he should put himself between them. Daisy had tried to hurt Tim, badly, but wasn’t it Jon’s fault she tried in the first place, starting arguments?</p>
<p>Daisy huffed a soft laugh. “The world ended.” The tension was thick with all of them trying not to ask anything- <em>what</em>, they were right here, the<em> world</em> was right here- as Daisy paused, gathering her thoughts. “I was- I took Jon and Mike Crew out to my spot to kill them. And I told Jon not to ask me anything, and not to record, but I found the recorder in his bag running. And he thought I was going to shoot him. So he Asked why.” She buried her head in her hands. “So I was going to cut out his voicebox with his dull little pocket knife.”</p>
<p>Basira looked between them, face tense. Martin’s arm tightened almost imperceptibly around his shoulders. Jon shook his head rubbing his hand against his throat as though there could be a scar there he wasn’t aware of. “That’s not- that <em>didn’t</em>!”</p>
<p>“Let me finish.” Daisy’s voice and eyes were both soft. “Basira showed up, stopped me. I didn’t kill Jon, but I made him bury Mike. I would’ve… it would’ve been both of them, but Basira was there, I didn’t want her to see me like that, and he said he could help us interrogate Elias. Tossed him back in the boot and off we went. Elias was ready for us, probably knew we’d come before we knew it ourselves. So Basira and I both worked for the Institute, officially or not, and… And Jon saved my life even though he was terrified of me and a year and a half later the world ended.” The last comes out in a rush, followed by a much softer, “And the rest of you… eventually I was the only one left. So I came back to stop it.”</p>
<p>“The Unknowing?” Tim asked, leaning in avidly, at the same time Melanie snapped,</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, are you saying you <em>time travelled</em>?”</p>
<p>“Not the Unknowing. Elias.” She ignored Melanie, trying to meet Jon’s eyes. “I shouldn’t have let myself forget that you weren’t the same. That I wasn’t your friend. I’m sorry. I really, really am, Jon. All I wanted was to keep you from being hurt the way you were the first time.”</p>
<p>Jon ran a hand through his bangs, pulling them off his forehead and trying to decide between disbelief and giving Daisy the absolution she so clearly wanted the way he’d been giving her everything else she wanted the last two and a half months, before settling on anger. “The best way to do that was to move me into your flat and never let me leave?”</p>
<p>Daisy shook her head. “I thought you knew you could! I couldn’t let you stay at Georgie’s flat because they broke in last time, but I thought you knew I’d help you find a place where they couldn’t if you wanted.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t, I didn’t-!” he was gasping, barely forming the words.</p>
<p>“Wait,” Melanie cut off any further response Jon had. “Who broke into Georgie’s flat?”</p>
<p>Daisy bit her lip. “They were there for Jon. They almost definitely won’t this time.” She darted a glance at Tim, “It was the Circus. Nikola.”</p>
<p>Tim’s face twisted, so Jon responded before he felt he had to. “I’ve faced plenty of monsters before and come out… more or less fine. It sounds as though I made it through alright in the first timeline. You could’ve left me be.”</p>
<p>Daisy just gave him a flat look, as though whatever she was thinking should be too obvious for words, though it clearly <em>wasn’t</em> or he would <em>know already</em>. Martin squeezed his shoulder looking over to him. “You believe her then? About the time travel?”</p>
<p>Jon paused. He hadn’t really thought about it. “I mean. Is it really any weirder than…” than worms trapping Martin in his flat, than a woman made of wax, than Mr. Spider, he didn’t know what to fit in the empty space.</p>
<p>Martin hummed. “I guess. I just thought… could you ask her? Properly, I mean. So she’d have to answer honestly.”</p>
<p>“...I suppose.” Jon swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, and met Daisy’s eyes for the first time since coming down to the tunnels. If she was angry enough to try an assault on his voicebox after all, it didn’t show in her eyes, wide and earnest. “<em> <b>Are you really from the future</b> </em>?” He thought they all felt the shiver of static power that accompanied the words.</p>
<p>“A future. And my body isn’t, just my mind. But everything I said was true.” Daisy took a deep breath. “Ask me something else. Ask me if I want to hurt you.”</p>
<p>Jon bit his lip, looking down and considering his phrasing. <em> <b>“</b> </em> <em> <b>Do you want to harm anyone here?</b> </em>”</p>
<p>“I could still give Stoker a smack for trying to hurt you. But I don’t want you or Basira hurt. And it would hurt you if the others died.”</p>
<p>Jon pressed on before the others’ no doubt explosive reaction that their survival as far as Daisy was concerned depended solely on <em> his </em> goodwill. “ <em> <b>What makes Basira and me different to the others?</b> </em>”</p>
<p>“You’re <em> mine </em> .” Jon flinched, and regret passed through Daisy’s eyes, but she couldn’t stop the words. “Basira’s my partner, she’s everything good and human left in me, and you pulled me out of <em> hell </em> . And then you were my friend when even Basira could barely stand to be around me half the time, even though I hurt you, even though you were scared. It may not have been <em> you </em>, but that’s still the kind of person you are. And even if there had been something to change you, or I came back so far neither of you had ever even heard of me, I missed you both too much not to keep the closest things I could find.” Even she looked a bit alarmed at the last.</p>
<p>“Daisy…” Basira spoke for the first time since coming into the tunnels, but she didn’t seem to know what to say. Jon thought he might have caught the faint hint of a blush on her cheeks, though her shoulders were tense and her hands rested on her thighs, curling and uncurling her fists.</p>
<p>Daisy stared into her lap, shoulders hunched inward. “I hadn’t thought about… I’m sorry. But I think… if I had- I mean. Any version of you. I <em> watched </em> you die, Basira, and I watched Jon… it was <em> terrible </em> . So yeah. I think. If that was when I’d come back to, I would’ve… stalked your primary schools, or found a way to insert myself and keep you from joining the police, or Jon from the Institute. Even if the only way… I would’ve <em> known </em> I was hurting you. It wouldn’t have been like,” she looked up at Jon, eyes damp, “like this, I would’ve <em> known </em> you were scared, doing <em> that </em>. But I would’ve done it if I had to.” She shuddered.</p>
<p>Jon swallowed. “You wouldn’t have been protecting us. Clearly we’ve made it this far just fine, you <em> wouldn’t </em> need to-” He was shaking his head in empty denial, she couldn’t, why would she <em> want </em> to, what had he <em> done </em> to deserve this?</p>
<p>“Maybe I’m just selfish!” Daisy snapped, interrupting. “I gave myself over to a Dread Power, and even if I didn’t know exactly, I was a lot more aware of what I was doing than you were. I’ve killed people. They weren’t all monsters, you must have had time to listen to the tape Elias made when I was questioning them about Leitner.” Jon shivered- he had, and had tried to banish the thought of Calvin Benchley’s skeleton lying beneath his feet as he’d dug his own grave, “is it so hard to believe I’d do something else terrible and selfish? I still saw you sometimes, at the end, Jon. You didn’t die. It just ate away at you while we watched. You tried to stop it, we all tried, everything we could think of, but you slipped away piece by piece until there was nothing left. And sometimes I saw you, not even knowing or caring the others were all dead, just drinking in the horror and doing whatever <em> he </em> said, kneeling at his feet like a doll. Of <em> course </em> I’d want any version of you I could get my hands on after that, so long as he wasn’t <em> empty </em>.” She was really shaking now, shoulders heaving as though she were sobbing, though neither sound nor tear made an appearance. She hugged her knees to her chest, and all the while she never looked away from Jon.</p>
<p>He could feel his own body shaking, shivering as though he’d gone out in a blizzard under the warm weight of Martin’s arm. He didn’t know if it was from his other self’s fate or the desperate emptiness he could see lighting up Daisy’s eyes.</p>
<p>“I think that’s enough for today,” Basira said softly. Daisy’s eyes snapped to her.</p>
<p>Martin nodded next to him. “I think you’re right. Jon? Do you want a hand up?”</p>
<p>Jon let himself be helped to his feet, even though it felt like going against the pull of a magnet- he needed to<em> know</em>, she had more answers to give him, they couldn’t<em> stop</em>- and let Martin shepherd him back to the Archives, barely even noticing Melanie and Tim behind them as they left Basira to say… whatever she could say, to that. Jon let Martin rub his arm and whisper comforting noises, though he wasn’t present enough to parse them into words, lost trying to make sense of everything.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*hides from angry crowd* so, there will be another part to this series. I honestly didn't mean for this to end to cliffhanger-y, the original plan was for daisy's explanation to get them to a place where jon can cautiously co-exist with her and believe she doesn't want to hurt him but. then daisy said 'actually the apocalypse messed me up much more than previously estimated.' so there's going to be a third installment!</p>
<p>the break will probably be a bit longer than it was between the first part and this, just because i have school and the third part didn't come to me with a fully formed structure the way this story did. and by the end of that they'll be to a better place and friendly! probably. there wasn't supposed to be a third part when i started writing this. but this also wasn't something i planned when i had the concept for the first story, so.</p>
<p>you can come yell at me on tumblr @inklingofadream if you want, or check out my other daisy time travel fic on my profile in the mean time. thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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